


Truth

by vinegardog



Category: Farscape
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinegardog/pseuds/vinegardog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Crichton goes awol.  D'Argo and then Aeryn go looking for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth

Set some time after ISTIA during Moya’s travels through Tormented Space.

Some spoilers for events up to S4.

Rated PG mainly for scenes of an intoxicated nature.

Word count: 3460 or thereabouts

Characters not mine. Some lines are quoted directly from a famous movie.

Warning: I have no idea how to define this. It starts a little angsty but it ends a little hopeful. I have no idea what’s in the middle.

Thanks to A Damned Scientist for the reassurance, betaing and suggestions.

 

**Truth (PG)**

 

“D’Argo?”

Aeryn came to a sudden stop when she almost collided with the Luxan at one of Moya’s intersections. She then swiftly turned on her heels and rushed to follow the tenkas swinging side to side in synch with the decisive stride of their owner, who was firmly heading in the opposite direction to the one she had been going.

“D’Argo!?” She called again after him. The only acknowledgement on his part was a marginal slowing down of the pace but nothing more.

“D’Argo!” She now employed her Peacekeeper power voice, the one that had made so many members of species she had crossed paths with back in her Peacekeeper days cower, back when she had considered them and treated them as inferior.

She almost physically felt D’Argo bristle at her imperious tone, however, after a clearly failed attempt on his part at further ignoring her, she finally saw him come to a stop. With a hiss and a growl, back still turned to her, he snapped: “What, Aeryn? What is it now?”

“Where is Crichton? Is what Pilot said true? Did he leave Moya in his module without telling anybody? Why now? And where…”

At her last question, D’Argo swung around with such vehemence that Aeryn almost took a step back in surprise and alarm.

“Why now? Really Aeryn, why now? You have no idea why he might have taken off now? I always thought you a lot more intelligent than that, I obviously overestimated you!” He snarled. “Don’t you think it just might have something to do with the manner of your return, your secrets, the baby, the paternity of said baby… and oh… yes!...I almost forgot…maybe with the fact that you arrived back with that abomination in tow and made John swear not to kill him?! Might that have something to do with it, you think?”

Aeryn, chastised, just stared back at the Luxan towering over her. The intensified shine in her distressed eyes the only sign of how close she was to losing her frayed self-control.

D’Argo felt a pang of guilt at the sight of those hard fought-back tears and bit back the other cutting remarks he had been about to make. “Look, Aeryn...” He wearily passed a gloved hand over his face “I am taking Lo’laa to the planet below, to the co-ordinates that Pilot has identified as Crichton’s destination. I will find him and I will bring him back… that’s a promise.”

“I want to come with you…” Aeryn heard herself plead, although she already knew what the reply to her entreaty was going to be.

“No! No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. John needs some time to himself, Aeryn. I told you, I will find him and I will bring him back here…to you. Give him a chance to come to terms with what he has learned. You owe him at least that…” D’Argo gently squeezed her right bicep as a sign of reassurance and headed towards the cargo bay to ready his ship for departure.

All Aeryn could do was stare after the Luxan as he strode away. She knew he was right. John needed time or, as he himself would probably have phrased it, he needed to get some air away from Moya–and, in particular, away from her.

To tell the truth, she did not want D’Argo to drag John back to Moya by force.

What she wanted was for him to come back of his own volition.

More immediately, what she wanted was for him to be safe, for him not to have gotten himself into anything dangerous or foolhardy.

What she really wanted was for him to forgive her.

What she desperately wanted was for him to trust her with his heart again.

But more simply, what she wanted …what she wanted was him, whatever way he would let her have him.

She sighed. But when had her wishes – or any of her crewmates’ wishes for that matter – actually come true in the last few cycles? Practically never, that’s when.

She slowly made her way to command wanting to follow D’Argo’s sound advice to just wait, knowing, however, that sitting back and doing nothing went against her very nature. She would give D’Argo two arns and after that she would follow him down to the planet in case her help was needed, whether John wanted her there or not.

She came to a stop at one of the control consoles in front of the main view screen and tensely stood, waiting for news.

____________________

D’Argo skilfully piloted Lo’laa into the space port allocated to him over the comms. From the results of the scans they had performed, this was by all means a sad pit of a planet with very little to offer other than a few Sebacean settlements scattered here and there. The electrostatic radiation pulses within its atmosphere however were slightly less troubling than in the other parts of Tormented Space and Moya was in dire need of a rest from the battering she had taken space-faring for the last number of weekens trough this portion of the galaxy so hostile to Leviathan physiology. The decision had therefore been made to orbit it for a while to give Moya and Pilot a brief respite before pushing on further into the unknown.

Their food supplies were still plentiful, so they had unanimously decided that they would not venture to the ground. They would stay in orbit and leave as soon as Moya and Pilot had recovered. That was the plan: avoid trouble at all costs. D’Argo snorted while powering Lo’laa down. Why did they even bother making plans? Nothing, ever, went the way they envisaged. This time however, for a change, it had not been fate or circumstance that could be blamed for their fine plans being scuppered. This time the only one to blame was the fahrbot human. John had taken his module and flown off telling nobody where he was going, not even Pilot.

D’Argo was angry but, mainly, he was worried. Worried for his friend’s safety and, even more so, worried for his friend’s mental health.

D’Argo was perfectly aware that over the cycles they had all gone through changes – some more dramatically than others - but John, without any doubt, had been the one to change the most. No real surprises there, after all he had been through hezmana and back since the very first day of his arrival on Moya. However what D’Argo feared had finally pushed him over the edge and left a permanent mark on his soul had been a combination of events: Aeryn’s leaving him behind a few monens back after the death of the other Crichton, his solitary long spell on Elack after also being abandoned by all of his other friends and crewmates, Arnessk - where he himself unwittingly had played a part in pushing John into Grayza’s despicable hands - and finally Aeryn’s dramatic return with Scorpius in tow. The very last straw had been the fact that the woman he desperately loved had refused to share anything with him about her time away from Moya.

D’Argo would not be surprised if John taking off in this manner meant that he had finally snapped. Most people in all fairness would have lost their sanity a lot sooner and, if anything, Crichton had shown incredible resilience up to this point, nobody could deny that.

D’Argo’s thoughts meandered back to the first couple of cycles of their acquaintance and a small smile came unbidden to his lips. How he missed the old John!

Just a few microts later however a frown quickly replaced the burgeoning smile on the Luxan’s face when his thoughts turned to how nowadays the Human no longer sported that infectious, sunny, naïve grin of his. When he did smile, it was now more a grimace or a smirk accompanied by a scowl. Instead of looking for his or any other member of the crew’s company, John now preferred his own company and more often than not could be found on command sniffing out wormholes and muttering to himself. Instead of incessantly chattering to whomever would listen about more or less intelligible things, he now glided silently along Moya’s halls and corridors, often lurking in the ones leading to Scorpius’s cell.

As newly elected captain, D’Argo felt that one of his main duties was to keep the crew united and happy especially in the face of their perilous flight from Peacekeepers and Scarrans alike. But when it came to John’s happiness – who was he trying to fool? - when it came to any member of the crew’s happiness, he felt completely and utterly helpless.

As soon as Lo’laa’s hatch opened and he stepped out on to the ground, D’Argo’s eyes fell on the stubby-nosed, white craft belonging to John. So far, so good, he thought, Crichton was definitely here.

He quickly took a look around to find his bearings and assess the surroundings. The place looked small enough – back on Luxa he would have called it no more than a large village. John could not have gone far and D’Argo was pretty sure that in such a minor settlement a stranger would not go unnoticed.

The locals were not the friendliest, unused as they were in dealing with outsiders but a few pointed questions here and there to some of the shop owners in the centre of the town were enough to direct him towards a grey, squat, large building located in the north-eastern corner of the main central square. The Sebacean sign over the entrance proudly announced it as the “Town Library”.

What Crichton might want with a library in this godforsaken place, D’Argo could not even begin to imagine and, knowing John’s quirks, he definitely did not want to start guessing. Whatever it was, he was sure he would find out soon enough.

He entered the building, let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the place and asked the man at the reception desk if anybody matching Crichton’s description had entered the premises. The old man suspiciously looked him up and down before wordlessly pointing to a vague spot at the back of the cavernous hall.

John was slumped, head in hands, at one of the common reading tables. A dozen or so tablets were strewn around in front of him, his back was to the entrance and he seemed to be unaware of his crewmate now standing and staring at him with concentrated worry.

D’Argo quietly closed the distance and peeked over John’s shoulder. All of the tablets seemed to be of a similar nature in content – all clearly dealt with Sebacean biology. In particular, by the looks of the images that most of their screens were showing, they seemed to deal with Sebacean female biology and physiology. He should have known this had to do with Aeryn. The obvious explanation was that John was trying to make sense of what she had told him about Peacekeeper pregnancies. He was also probably trying to work out what the chances actually were that the baby she was carrying was John Crichton’s, whether their biological compatibility was strong enough for them to be able to procreate. D’Argo was only too painfully familiar with what those doubts and unanswered questions did to a man’s mind and soul. He had gone through it once, cycles ago, with his Sebacean wife and again more recently when he had agonised about the fact that he would be unable to father children with Chiana due to their genetic incompatibility – that is of course when their future together had still looked promising.

By the look of his friend’s slumped shoulders and all around dejected air, D’Argo could tell that John had found no satisfactory answers to the questions that plagued him.

D’Argo was a proud male, he had fought in two battle campaigns side by side with his fellow Luxan warriors, he had survived eight long years of chained captivity and torture at the hands of the Peacekeepers and all through those harrowing experiences he had never –not even once–considered hugging another male to lend or receive comfort… but all that changed at that very moment.

Manfully, he fought the impulse to clinch John in his arms and finally just limited himself to firmly place a large hand on his shoulder.

Maybe John had heard him approach after all, even though he had shown no sign of it up ‘til then, because instead of being startled at the sudden touch, he just wearily rubbed his eyes and muttered:  
“Hey, D.”

“Have you found what you were looking for?” D’Argo probed keeping his tone of voice level and calm.

“Nope.”

“Any of these treatises any help?”

“Nope.”

“You can’t even read any of them, can you?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t really think this through when you came here, did you?”

“Nope!”

All of a sudden John’s shoulders started shaking, slowly at first, then with more violence and for a dreadful moment D’Argo feared the man had finally lost it and given in to uncontrollable sobbing. But when the Human lifted his head off his hands and turned sideways to half face him, relief flowed through D’Argo’s coiled insides.

This fahrbot being, who had weaselled his way into his life and, against all odds, become the best friend he’d ever had, was laughing.

John was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his cheeks. He was laughing so hard that not a sound was coming out of his mouth for lack of air…until a loud gulp of necessary oxygen intake broke the silent intensity of it and let the infectious, uncontrollable laughter finally ring out in this dreary and grey place.

D’Argo could not help but laugh right along – he hadn’t the faintest idea why he was laughing but he did all the same, explosively and with immense relief. Great big bellows of mirth erupted from the very centre of his core in concert with John’s hilarity.

After a few dozen microts of unstoppable glee - and a large amount of disapproving stares from the handful of other library patrons - in a strangled-by-amusement voice, John confirmed pointing at the literature that he had gathered and that was lying scattered around: “I couldn’t even read one word of these frelling things. Not. One. Solitary. Word. Not one, D! Might as well be Chinese… or Sebacean!” And at his own inane joke, he started laughing all over again.

“Well, at least the naked pictures make up for the disappointment, my friend!” D’Argo’s booming jest was followed by a slap to John’s back hard enough to almost knock him sideways onto the floor.

Finally, when the last of the chuckles had stopped escaping both of their throats and the two men had dried their eyes from the tears of laughter, D’Argo said: “You know what, John? I think we should go and get intoxicated. This might be a bleak cesspool of a place, but I can guarantee there is going to be a fine tavern to be found somewhere nearby! Well, maybe not a fine one… but a tavern! How else would the locals be able to make it through their miserable lives otherwise? What do you say, my friend?”

_______________________

After almost four arns of an agonising wait, Aeryn decided that enough was enough. She boarded her Prowler and followed in John’s and D’Argo’s steps planetside.

Locating her missing crewmates turned out to be a lot easier than she expected. Within 20 microns of landing, Aeryn had been regaled by indignant town folks with stories of how the two outsiders she was looking for had disturbed the sacred peace of the local library and then continued their boisterous and offensive behaviour in the nearby hostelry called the “Flibbisk and Brindz Hound”.

Aeryn bristled. She had spent four of the tensest arns of her life worrying and imagining all sorts of terrible happenings and it had all been for nothing. The two frellniks had been having a fine time all along and, by now, they were probably stupid-drunk and feeling no pain. And how she or anybody else might be feeling about their disappearance was probably the last thing on their minds. Males! She ought to leave them here. Sooner or later they would undoubtedly get into a brawl with the natives and end up in the local gaol. And when that happened, it would serve them right.

‘Let them try to get out of trouble by themselves, see if I care!’ Aeryn thought to herself while nevertheless firmly stalking towards the drinking establishment where they had been spotted, intending to see them safely back to Moya. She knew of course that her actions were in open opposition to her belligerent thoughts but this dichotomy was pretty much the trademark result of her caring for the Human since the very earliest days of their coming together, so it no longer surprised her, upset her or even really registered with her.

The inside of the tavern was dark and smoky but it took her only half a microt to spot them. They had pretty much created a vacuum around themselves by repelling the other drinkers, who had thought it prudent to give the weird strangers a wide berth by sitting at a safe distance.

Whatever high jinks they had been up to before her arrival, it seemed that they had now reached a level of intoxication that did not allow them much movement. They were slumped on stools, side by side, elbows propped on the bar, talking to each other. The large number of empty glasses sitting on the counter in front of them clearly bearing witness to the absolute dedication they both had shown to the ultimate goal of getting wasted.

D’Argo’s voice, always naturally loud, and now very slurred as well, reached Aeryn’s ears before she could make her presence known to them.

“… Sho, whatchagonna… gonna do about it, Crichton my man?” D’Argo belched and continued: “Gonna forgive her or you gonna continue mo… moping around and cutting her out of your… your life?”

Aeryn had to strain to hear John’s lower, but not less slurred, voice reply:

“Dunno, man! Wiscsh I knew! But I don’t!” John hiccupped and then moaned: “It’s sho frelling hard! She… she’s right there, y’know! Right there! I could… I could jusht reasch out and tousch her and really, really make myshelf, and her… both of ush, really happy!” He turned his head and drunkenly grinned towards the general direction of D’Argo at his own boast. Anguish then seeped into his voice when he continued: “…but, I can’t! I jusht can’t, D! Wisch… wisch she told me the trutch… why d’ya think she won’t… won’t tell me the trutch, D? All I want is the trutch… is that so musch to ashk?”

“You can’t handle the truth!” Aeryn’s cool, controlled voice sliced through the two men’s alcoholic haze like a knife and made both John and D’Argo quickly, or as quickly as their numb bodies would let them, turn around in surprise at the sudden appearance of the object of their conversation. Aeryn stiffly raised a hand and pointed at the empty glasses before adding: “I think, John, this is proof enough that you can’t!”

She expected him to protest, she expected him to curse her, maybe even to tell her to go away and leave him alone, but instead he just stared at her with deep amusement before turning to D’Argo and asking:

“D’ya hear what she shaid? She shaid ‘You can’t handle the trutch!’”

Then, before either of the other two could lift a finger to stop him, John had scrambled off the stool he was sitting on and somehow managed to climb on top of the high bar countertop. After shakily and miraculously righting and balancing himself up there, he then spread his arms and hectored in a dramatic, loud, surprisingly clear tone of voice to all and sundry:

“Blah blahblah… you want me on that wall; you need me on that wall! Blah, blah, blah… either way I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to!”

He looked down at Aeryn, smiled with pride at the notable accomplishment of having delivered his speech unimpeded, winked at her and, back to slurring, he added:

“Co… colonel Jesshup had nothing on you, honey… you could kick hish ashs any time, handhs down!”

D’Argo and Aeryn had barely time to exchange a startled and confused look before John’s eyes glazed over and his body slowly, almost gracefully in its sudden unconscious state, crumpled off its high perch down towards the floor. His inexorable fall was only interrupted by D’Argo’s extended arms that had instinctively shot out to catch him. They gathered him up safely and cradled him protectively before any harm could come to him.

“What was that all about?” Aeryn asked D’Argo while making way for him and his precious cargo towards the exit of the tavern.

“Haven’t the faintesht idea, Aeryn… gave up trying to undershtand John a long time ago, life is eashier that way… trusht me!” Then after a short moment of silence, the big Luxan added with alcohol induced candour, addressing her back: “You know, he could not shtop talking about you… the entire night… only you…”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Aeryn’s lips crease in a small, secret smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give her the smallest of hopes.

 

The end


End file.
